


The Gambler

by LadyAmalthea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Excessive Drinking, Happy Ending, M/M, Prostitution, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAmalthea/pseuds/LadyAmalthea
Summary: Çurly Joe was thrown behind bars one night, and receives the bet of a lifetime from a local man with a sweet tongue and a pretty face.Inspired by "The Ballad of Buster Scruggs"





	The Gambler

“C’mon, you’ve done enough for one night,” Gavin said, pulling the larger man into the iron-barred cell with the other deputy, Niles. 

 

“Git your hands offa’ me, ya bastard!” The sloppily drunk, stumbling gambler yelled as he was manhandled and locked away for the night. One too many shots of whiskey from Jimmy’s Saloon, an overheard comment that wasn’t meant for his ears, and his fist flew into the offending man’s face. Chaos ensued, and next thing he knew he was being dragged out. He wasn’t banned, of course, it’d be bad for business if he was. But, after giving the guy a shiner, the safest course of action was to lock Çurly Joe up for the night.

 

It was a small town for two deputies, but after the sheriff died in a shootout about a year or so ago, Niles and Gavin had taken over the duties of protecting the small town. 

 

“Sir, ya might wont’ta settle in for t’e night, yer not goin’ anywhere,” Niles insisted, placing the chunky ring of keys on their table in the corner as Gavin lit a hand-rolled cigarette.

 

With the rolled paper between his teeth, he mumbled out a few curses. He turned to Niles, “F’ck this old man… I was hopin’ that you and I would finally get a night off,” he said, taking a long drag and letting the smoke billow out of his nose.

 

Niles came around behind him, snatching up the lit grant and taking a puff for himself, “we could ask my brot’er to watch t’is crazy lush, he id’nt doin’ anyt’in’. Wouldn’t ya say so?”

 

“What, you’re gonna leave me locked in here and looked after by some other paddy?” the detained man barked.

 

The two deputies gave him a look, and Niles stepped up to the bars unafraid as he looked Çurly Joe right in the eyes. “You’d better t’ink a little harder before ya speak.” He inhaled another hit, blowing the smoke right at the man’s face. “Reed, would’ja mind going across the way to t’e boardin’ house and findin’ me brot’er?” 

 

“It'd be my fuckin’ pleasure,” Gavin said, swing the door open and letting it slam behind him.

 

Niles returned to his sit, ignoring any further protest from their inmate until his partner returned. His return was announced by the sound of singing from his target. Niles sighed, “Connor, ya fuckin’ tit…”

 

Çurly Joe furrowed his brows, staring intently at the door until it opened, revealing his captor for the night. He certainly looked like his brother, but smaller in stature and complexion rosier. Instead of the harsh blue, his eyes were a soft brown like a hound's. 

 

“if I could only get a chance to have a word or- ay! Watch how yer pushin’ there, dep’ty!” His song was stilted as he entered the small building, he brother catching him as he tripped forward. 

 

“Connor, keep an eye on this rascal here. Don't let him out, we’re keepin’ ‘I'm till morn. Ye understand?” Niles instructed, a hint of giddiness as he and Reed went toward the door.

 

“Whatev'r ye say, Nicki…”

 

Niles groaned, “Will'ya stop callin’ me t'at? Its Niles now; a good, proper new name. I'll see ye at dawn, al’right?”

 

Connor collapsed into a chair, slamming a large jug of whiskey on the table. “Yeah, yeah… go ahead on, have yer fun.”

 

The two deputies left, trying hard to act worthy of their titles as they snuck off to God-knew-where. Çurly Joe looked at the young, red-cheeked man, already taking another swig of his drink.

 

“So, I'm told yer in ‘ere for starting a fight. What'd t’e fool do to mess wit’ a man like you?” Connor asked, a drip of alcohol dripping from his lips over his bare chin.

 

“Said somethin’ rather unsavory about the fella tending bar. He thought no one heard, but I did… so I punched out his lights.”

 

Connor took a sip from his bottle, “bad enough to slug him, Joseph?”

 

Çurly Joe huffed, “that ain’t my name, kid.”

 

“Oh, well  _ pardon me _ for assumin’, bein’ t’at everybody calls ye Joe. So t’en, what be yer good, Christian name, sir?”

 

The man approached the bars, forearm resting on them in front of him. “Henry. Henry Joseph Anderson.” He cleared his throat, spitting at the dirt floor just beside him. “My ol’ man called me Joe, but my momma… momma called me ‘Hank’.”

 

The brown-haired Irishman nodded, “wouldja mind if I called ye Hank? It’s a much more suitin’ name for ye.”

 

“I don’t give a single damn,” the rough voice grumbled, resigning back to the itchy cot. He laid down flat, wishing he had his hat to lay over his eyes. “So Connor, you’ve got a deputy for a brother, but what are you?”

 

Electing to ignore the question, Connor returned to singing. “As I was going over, t’em far famed Kerry Mountains, I met wit’ Captain Farrel and his money he was coutin’...”

 

“Do you  _ ever _ shut your fuckin’ mouth?” Hank groaned out, rolling over.

 

“What, not to your likin’? Perhaps a lullaby for ye?” Connor retorted.

 

Sighing, Hank sat up, “silence would be in your best interest. B’sides, you didn’t even answer my query.” 

 

“Well, if’n you wanna know so badly, I’m a bawdy companion for hire, alright?” Connor’s voice had a bite to it, piercing daggers into Hank. “It’s a wonder what an unhappy wife or roamin’ wrangler will pay for my sweet mouth.” 

 

“Oh…” 

 

“Ni- Niles and I spent our first few mont’s workin’ in factories in New York, until our - our brother died and we decided to head west. We were makin’ our way out to Oregon, to claim t’at promised land up for grabs. We stopped here, and Niles met Mr. Reed and… t’at was t’at.”

 

Hank felt like a damn fool listening to the story. “Shi-it… and how long ago was that?”

 

Connor removed his dark grey, wool jacket, revealing a dirtied white shirt and suspenders. “Nearly a year, I t’ink. Miss Stern’’s giving us a mighty fine rate at the boardin’ house, but I perform my services up in the saloon’s smokin’ room upstairs.” He gave Hank a coy smile, “are ya t’inkin’ of seekin’ my employment?”

 

“No fuckin’ thanks,” Hank said swiftly. “I don’t need your filthy mouth anywhere near me.”

 

“Hmmm… what would you say to a bet, then?” Connor asked.

 

Hank raised a brow, “a bet?” He repeated back, interest piqued. Damn his gambling infatuation; “Name your terms.”

 

“A challenge of sorts; a drinking game. I win, you let me have my way wit’ ya.”

 

Hank huffed, “and if I win?” 

 

Connor shrugged, “up to you.”

 

“Hmmm… if I win, I get to beat the livin’ snot outta ya. But,” he paused, “I gotta wonder if you got it in ya. Beggin’ yer pardon, but you hardly look like to could fit a few pints in ya.”

 

Another sip of his jug, Connor’s smile didn’t falter, “ye say t’at now,” 

 

“Hmmph… yeah yeah… wake me in the morning.” Hank said, looking away. “We’ll settle this t’morrow.”

 

Connor hummed softly as he cleared his throat with another wash of whiskey, humming softly into the deathly quiet of night.

  
  


\------

  
  
  
  


The two of them managed to avoid each other for most of the day. Çurly Joe went to check on his horse in the stable, brushing the steed and spoiling him with a few carrots he’d saved. Connor was busy helping at Stern’s boarding house; washing dishes, running errands, sweeping the front hall and parlor. 

 

Just after the free lunch at the saloon, a customer called him upstairs for his services. She had all the typical buttons that Connor knew how to push, and the customer left wide-eyed with shaky legs in almost no time at all. The money would be enough to cover his share of the drinking, assuming the man could truly match his own tolerance. Back home, he’d had his fair share of long nights at the bar with his brothers. The three of them getting into all kinds of tomfoolery in the alcoholic haze. 

 

Most importantly… he hoped to the good Lord above that he could win and take his prize.

 

After supper at the boarding house he changed into some fresh clothes, and meandered down the dirt street to the saloon. He waved down the bartender Jimmy, giving him the run down of their little challenge, and decided to stake a place at a table that sat between the bar and the stairs up to the smoking lounges. 

 

Connor spotted something in the corner of the room; a dark, wide-brimmed hat tossed aside behind the tack piano. Lifting it up, he saw the initials ‘H.J.A’ inked along the inside band. Boldly, he brushed the lingering dust from the crown and placed it on his head. A great surprise for his rival.

 

Before the stroke of the next hour, heavy boots clomped along the wood floors of the saloon. Surrounding patrons hushed their conversations, watching in silence as Çurly Joe dragged a chair by its legs up the table where the Irishman was sitting.

 

“That’s my hat, you arse,” his voice was rough and low, sending a shiver through Connor’s spine. He stiffened his posture, tilting the hat up to look at the icy blue stare. It was forcefully snatched away; the big, gruff man sneering as he set it on the table beside where he sat. “Your funeral, kid.”

 

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Connor replied, nodding to Jimmy as the first few rounds of shots to their table. Each leaned forward, not daring to look away from one another. They raised a glass each, clinking them together, “may t’e greater tippler win.” 

 

They knocked down the first shot, and little by little the other folks around began talking again, watching and whispering. Each round went by, and even Niles and Gavin had found a table not too far away to see the face-off. The small shot glasses were lined up in front of them to tally their progress; one turned to five, and five turned to ten by the time the moon was high in the clear, cool skies above. The ruckus of the crowd grew, both men staying silent with each matched gulp of amber liquor.

 

A score and a half of glasses sat between them; like a strange chess match, they were lined up opposingly like two small armies. 

 

One more. One more pour in front of them. Both looked weary, cheeks hot red and expressions dazed as the shot was tossed back. As the liquid burned his throat, Connor leaned forward on the table. He shut his eyes, fighting the urge to heave it all up, when the chair across him suddenly toppled over.

 

There, in all his glory and strewn over the floor, Çurly Joe was out cold.

 

All around, cheers were yelled and sips of ale were gulped. Connor hoisted himself up, looking down at the unconscious cowboy, and placing the owed dimes harshly on the table. His brother was in his sights, speaking loudly at him, but Connor waved Niles away and started dragging out the swinging doors.

 

“I’ma gonna…” he started, slurring, “I’m gonna be t’e jailhouse. Dontcha dare come for a while, y’hear me, Nilly?” He called over.

 

Once outside, he realized he couldn’t get the heavy man all the way down the street, and resigned to slapping the bristled cheek sharply. “Wake up, Çurly, ya lost!” He half-knelt over the grumbling, waking figure. “Ya owe me now, sir.”

 

Rubbing his face, Hank groaned and sat up, seeing the idiotic smirk on the brunet’s face. “I couldn’ta lost, how in hell didja…” Belligerent and drunk, he slowly stood up. He pointed a finger at Connor, taking wobbly steps forward until it seemed better to just grip the man by the shirt collar. “Ye cheated, didn’tcha?” 

 

Taking offense, Connor tried to pry the large hands away. “Certainly not, ye bastard!” In a sudden movement, he was smashed into the older man’s face. Tongues danced wildly, nothing but the smell of whiskey on either of them. 

 

Hank gripped the curls after a moment, speaking roughly into Connor’s ear. “Now where were you plannin’ on takin’ me?”

 

“Back to the fuckin’ cell where I found ya,” he admitted, and then yelped as he was flung over a hefty shoulder. Connor watched the saloon get further away; he wiggled to get free but received a firm  _ slap _ on his buttocks at the protest.

 

“You ain’t gettin’ away now… this was  _ your _ grand idea, after all,” Hank said, barely keeping his footing as he found the dingey, pale-walled little shack toward the outskirts of the main drag and kicked the door open with ease. “Pretty boy, you messed with the wrong feller.”

 

Connor was shifted backwards up against the iron bars, mouths clashing again in a drunken ferver. Somehow unhindered, both of them were sporting a tightness against their pants. Adrenaline from being held up so high off the ground knocked down any resistance Connor had been mustering, and the moment Hank pressed into his hips he gave a  _ moan _ . 

 

Weak in the strong arms, he let pure need guide him through the motions of rubbing Hank’s cheeks, his jaw, fingers hiding in the silver locks that clung to Hank’s neck with sweat. His hot breaths tickled Connor’s fair skin; Hank marveled at the delicate youthfulness that he was about to ravesh. The room was spinning, but all he felt was the closeness and delight. 

 

Connor was used to being the initiator; giving and giving, and hardly receiving. Every unexpected pinch through the denim or the teeth that scraped his neck was like lightning through his veins. “H-h-ha-nk, oh almighty…”

 

Hank smirked at the exclamation, thrilled with the sound of Connor’s voice as he adjusted Connor in his hold so his thighs were resting on Hank’s stomach. “Keep talkin’,” he demanded in a dark tone; the legs pressed against him shuddered. Regaining a sliver of composure, Connor whipped away the kerchief around Hank’s neck and pulled each pearlescent button out of place. He marveled at the thick hair of Hank’s chest, coarse and curling. Holding his face just far enough away, he finally got an up-close glance at the man’s face. The blue eyes like peaceful, cool water; wrinkles and marks showed his years of time out in the sunshine. Nature had dealt her hand, but it only made Connor adore the features more. He could feel Hank’s eyes on him, too. He blinked slowly, his panting rampantly heavy and he ached for more.

 

“We’ve got to g-get rid of these,” Hank murmured, letting Connor sink down to his feet so he could strip him down. He impatiently ripped the front open, buttons unthreaded and bounced to the floor to reveal the spare, but dark-colored patches of fuzz on his torso. It trailed down and disappeared into his belted pants, which Hank worked on next. 

 

Connor gave an emphatic  _ “ooooh _ ” has he was exposed, nearly forgetting to start doing the same in return. He handled Hank’s clothing a little more delicate, but it proved a challenge to get through it at all as his mind felt miles away. 

 

He was suddenly being pinned against, this time by his chest and the side of his head as Hank feasted on the supple skin of the top of his shoulder and neck. His hands shook the jacket in his grasp, battling whether or not to bring Hank closer or push him off. In a flash, Connor reached for the bulge against his leg, and heard a sigh right next to his ear. In a cupping motion he was able to get a full sense of what he was up against, scaling the size in his mind and feeling anticipatory panic flush through his body. 

 

There was a moment of fumbling, as Connor realized he needed to pull his pants off over his boots. There was no way in hell he was dealing with Hank meandered Connor to one of the chairs, bare ass on the weathered wood, and kissed along the lean thighs as he pulled the denim away. Hank gave a chuckle at the view; Connor’s dick stood proudly, and he invited himself down to steal a taste of it. It was almost too soft to be true, and Connor arched back. But, he needed a better angle to do this properly. Connor was lifted a little further, up onto the table, Hank pushing a leg up into the air as he sat in the seat. 

 

“What are you- aa-aAAAHH!” Something warm and wet found his hole, puckering up against the neatly trimmed whiskers of Hank’s face. Connor’s wide eyes crossed and he keened, the tingle of liquor in his stomach suddenly spiking into tightness as his muscles clenched. 

 

Hank let his lips vibrate as he hummed pleasantly, the taste of Connor’s sweat on his tongue and those sweet noises in his ears. He replaced the tip of his tongue with his round thumb, easing it through the tight ring. The moans turned to half-screams, a tinge of pain but a smile curled on the pink lips. “I should be lockin’ you up for lookin’ like that,” Hank teased, his finger sliding out just for a moment before pressing in again.

 

A sharp gasp came from Connor, and his eyes were screwed shut tight. “T’en why don’tcha?”

 

Hank took the new challenge, smirking as he lifted Connor with one arm behind the iron bars, placing him on the stiff cot in the corner. He closed the gate, giving the young Irishman a glance as he stalked forward. The dark pants were pulled down as Connor reached out to him, before he was pulled back up to his feet. “Against the bars,” he was ordered, Connor obeying and faced away from Hank. He set his feet along the bottom, horizontal rung like a ladder, knuckles white as he wrapped his hands around metal.

 

It was just high enough for Hank to press the head of his cock against the opening, hand clapping at Connors thigh. Bending his knees one at a time, he raised each foot to a higher hold to give him some leverage and control as he was ruthlessly invaded from behind. The wetness of Hank’s mouth helped him slide in a little, creeping in inch by inch. Connor raised himself up for a moment, steadying himself to bring Hank in a little deeper. He groaned warmly, setting a steady motion of in and out to his own pace, teeth clenching while he hissed through the feeling. 

 

“Please.. oohhh… can’t ya go any faster?” Connor asked, feeling Hank only just move with him.

 

“And if’n I don’t? What’re you gonna do ‘bout it?” He groaned back, harshly thrusting upwards and hitting the deepest corner of Connor’s ass. 

 

Whimpering, Connor threw his head back slightly, another hard grind filling him completely. It was a tight fit, feeling his insides bruise at the rough treatment; a pain he wouldn’t feel until the next morning when he woke hungover.

 

Hank continued to plow into him, the pull on his penis inspiring him to give in to a full throttle. His fingers dug into the flesh of Connor’s hips, curling around the protruding bone on each side. The swimming in his mind didn’t let it last too long, but neither of them needed it. One of Hank’s hands grabbing a straining shoulder as he shot his load inside, growling as pleasure knocked the wind out of his lungs. 

 

“Ohh!! Pl-please touch me! N-now!!” Connor pleaded, until Hank collapsed into him to wrap his large hand around Connor’s pulsing member and he came with a cry. His stance slipped a little, the aftershocks tugging him back down toward the ground, almost wishing he could just fall to the floor. Hank kept both of them on their feet, just barely, as they breathed exhaustedly until their thoughts cleared enough to get their clothes situated enough to walk outside. 

 

Thankfully, no one was around when Connor poked his head out the door, stumbling with Hank to the barn nearby. There was a large, fresh pile of hay against the back wall. He sunk into the sweet-smelling straw, Hank finding a spot beside him, and they looked out over the barren, dry land that stretched beyond their sights.

 

Connor chanced a glancing eye to get a proper reading on the large companion, already seeing that the sandman was dusting his eyes with sleep. He rolled onto his shoulder, getting a little closer to feel Hank’s warmth through the chill of the night’s air.

 

“I feel as t’ough I should know somet’ing more about ye,” he softly insisted, not receiving a flinch as he palmed Hank’s chest.

 

The man huffed, “what more’s there to know at this point.” Hank saw that the joke stung a little, as Connor was being quite earnest; he frowned, guilt causing him to bite on his lip. “Ahhh… you don’t wanna be learnin’ yourself in my affairs.”

 

“And what if I do? You know most of mine, but I wanted ye to,” he said, but no answer was given. Hank stared out over the prairie, and Connor went on his back again. Frustration settled on his brows, he saw Hank notice from the corner of his vision, and felt an arm circle beneath him to bring him closer. Their chests were pressed together, but it was somehow different than before. 

 

Hank rubbed his fingers along Connor’s jaw, “I’m not a man who settles down, not anymore,” he started, patiently letting Connor look away from him as he spoke. “Lost everything one day, and I can’t look back. Not at anyone or anythin’.” 

 

Connor nodded, “and… not even me, t’en?” 

 

Hank leaned closer, his lips moving gently on Connor’s cheek. “Darlin’, I ain’t changin’. Love’s been dead for me for too many years.”

 

“But what if I-” Connor stopped himself, mouth hanging open and the words hanging on his tongue.

 

“Don’t.” Hank let Connor jerk away. “We’ll talk in the mornin’.”

  
  


Sleep came easily, both of them so tired it was enough to deal with the discomfort. Hank woke a long time after dawn, the sun beating down on him that he almost wished he didn’t have eyes. A pounding headache, a dry mouth; nothing new about it except for the smell of another man that lingered on his shirt. Connor had gotten up and left, and Hank took it as an opportunity to skip town before any more emotions got involved. There was a back door to the stables, which he entered grumpily as he started to saddle up his stallion. He’d already purchased some provisions until he reached the next town, so he could leave right away.

 

He lead the horse outside, giving him a pat on the neck before mounting on the familiar leather seat. Hank clicked his tongue and tugged on the reins, heading out of town on the west rode at a moderate trot. He wouldn’t glance over his shoulder, or search for the boarding house.

 

It wasn’t until he was several miles out that a sound approaching from behind him, a solid gallop and a whinny. He didn’t want to look.

 

A speckled mare cut him off on the rode, both horses raising their front legs as they halted before an impact.    
  
“What the fuck are ya doin’?” Hank bellowed angrily at the other rider, almost smiling at the sight.

 

Connor turned his horse in a small oval, coming up beside Hank as he continued onwards. “I’m coming wit’ ya, of course!” 

 

“And why in  _ hell _ did you think that would be a good-”

 

“I wanted to!” Connor said, a determined smile melting Hank’s dismay. “T’ere’s nottin’ for me in t’at town besides my brother, and he’s well enough wit’out me.”

 

Hank wanted to object further, but he saw that Connor’s horse was laden with packs, and a shotgun at the ready dangling from the saddle. “You’re sure?”

 

“Only if you t’ink you can keep up,” his eyes lit up. He yelled out “hyah!” as he spend forward, racing away to give chase.

 

Rolling his eyes, Hank followed suit.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Twitter: @canticumexvacui


End file.
